


Getting By

by INMH



Series: trope-bingo Fanfiction Fills 2016 (2nd Quarter) [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: STID AU. Sequel to Coda. Much as he would like everyone to believe otherwise, there are many ways in which the 23rd century has thrown Khan for a loop. Now it’s just a matter of getting him to admit it before he loses a finger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> God I hope this reads like a curtain!fic, I’ve never written one before and I don’t even know what does and doesn’t fit into the definition of “domestic”.

“I don’t-”  
  
“-need my help, you are the toughest alpha-male on the block, no one can hold a candle to you, you are stronger, you are smarter, You Are Better, yeah, I _know_ ,” Jim snarled. “Now sit down and let me figure this out before the toaster explodes.”  
  
Really, it was astonishing: Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone display such a massive inability to work a damn _toaster_ , of all things. But there was smoke coming out of it and of _course_ Khan hadn’t called building maintenance (whom he didn’t trust) nor the local fire department (whom he didn’t trust) nor any of his neighbors (whom he didn’t trust, starting to see a pattern here?). He’d been lucky that Jim had been meaning to stop by that day, needing to further discuss his upcoming place in the Enterprise’s crew for their five-year mission.  
  
Khan looked positively _bitter_ at the fact that Jim seemed baffled at his actions. Jim was already learning that Khan had a very low tolerance for being outdone in any arena. He was half-convinced that he could say something insane like ‘I bet I could hack my right hand off faster than you’ and Khan would have it done in a matter of seconds, so deep was his desire to live up to his status as Better.  
  
“What the fuck did you do to this thing?”  
  
Khan gnashed his teeth, a rare sign of blatant frustration. “I was attempting to _fix_ it.”  
  
“Fix it how? How the hell did it break?”  
  
“How the fuck should I know? I put the bread in, I left it there, and then there was smoke.”  
  
Ah.  
  
Khan had probably left the toast in the toaster for too long.  
  
And then, instead of supposing that maybe he had operated the machine incorrectly, he had attempted to “repair” it. Then, in the process of “repairing” the toaster, he’d managed to fuck up the internal workings of said toaster, leading to further damage.  
  
Jim felt like mentioning that he had never, in his natural life, heard of a toaster or its contents catching fire before (unless in the hands of an explorative engineering student) and that for Khan to have somehow bypassed all of the safety measures incorporated into the machinery in the last two-hundred fifty years was nothing short of a miracle- but Jim sensed that that might provoke Khan to violence, and he didn’t feel like getting the shit kicked out of him today, thank you.  
  
Khan was too stubborn to actually say it out loud, but Jim was now starting to realize that the Augment had far less of a grasp on modern technology than one might suppose. Building highly advanced starships equipped for war had been easy, and Jim knew that it was largely because Marcus had given Khan every resource, every piece of knowledge, every technological advancement possible to get it done. He didn’t doubt that Khan had read through every starship and deep-space warfare-related advancement since 2001 in order to get the job done.  
  
But a toaster was something else. Khan had no context for repairing toasters- or cars, as Jim had learned. It wasn’t a weapon and it wasn’t something made to go in a starship, so he had likely never dealt with the technology required to operate or repair one before, especially since the technology in question was about two-hundred fifty years beyond his expertise.  
  
Now, this _could_ have been remedied by calling Jim up and saying “I need help”, or even something as blunt as “tell me where the nearest library is” and then hanging up once he’d gotten his answer. Khan didn’t have access to a PADD or anything else that might connect him to the internet, by order of Starfleet, but there were other ways to find out how to repair a freaking toaster. But since Khan was Mr. I Am Better, Jim was forced to consider two possible conclusions:  
  
A, Khan refused to even consider that repairing a toaster was beyond his ken and tried to repair it anyways, because how hard could it be;  
  
Or B, he was damn well certain he couldn’t repair the toaster, but admitting that would have made him physically ill, so instead of asking for instructions or some other assistance like a fucking _normal person would_ , he went ahead and tried to wing it.  
  
On one hand, it was strangely reassuring to know that Khan was not, in fact, a perfect being who knew how to do everything better than everyone else.  
  
On another hand, Jim was not fond of the new anxiety he was developing, one that prominently featured a bleak fantasy of Khan’s apartment building exploding because he, shit, dropped a blender into a toilet? Stuck a knife into a food synthesizer? There were some very vibrant fantasies running through his head that made him wonder if he shouldn’t kiddie-proof the apartment a bit.  
  
(Right. Because that would end _so_ well.)  
  
That anxiety grew a little more when Jim sat down and had a chance to look inside the toaster at length, realizing that Khan had made several reasonably dangerous mistakes in his attempts at ‘fixing’ the toaster. “For the record,” Jim said, trying to keep any note of irritation or superiority out of his voice, “I don’t think it was broken. I think you left the toast in for too long.”  
  
Khan frowned. “I left it in for five minutes.”  
  
Yup, there it was. Jim winced. “Uh, this kind of toaster makes toast in about thirty seconds.”  
  
There was a barely-perceptible change in Khan’s face, and Jim was pretty sure it was as close to a blush as the Augment could (or would) produce. But instead of just saying ‘whoops’ or ‘my bad’, he turned and looked out the window, breathing a bit too steadily for it to be genuine calm. Jim had learned already that Khan didn’t deal with embarrassment very well.  
  
Jim carefully set the toaster aside. It would cost more to fix it than it would to just get a new one. “I’ll see if I can’t find you a new one.”  
  
“Don’t bother.”  
  
Jim might have been more offended at the tone if Khan wasn’t still avoiding eye-contact. He was getting better at determining what was deliberate rudeness and what was just Khan’s weird social skills. There wasn’t a whole lot of variety to his interaction skills: Polite aloofness, moody silence, and simmering anger were really the only three Jim saw with any regularity.  
  
That would have to change if Khan was going to be a member of the Enterprise crew at some point in the future. There weren’t a whole lot of people who could get away with acting the way he acted- Spock was the only one who came close, and that was because everybody knew that Vulcans embraced cold, hard facts and logic, it was just the way they were. But Khan, though Augmented, was still partially human, looked human, and did not have a people and a culture to excuse his behavior. He would need to at least learn to _play_ at being pleasant.  
  
And Jim was starting to accept that it might end up being his job to tease Khan’s better nature out of him.  
  
Assuming he had one.  
  
“Alright then.” Jim stood up and wandered over to the kitchenette and started opening cabinets, looking.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Making breakfast. You aren’t the only one who hasn’t eaten this morning.” That wasn’t completely true, as Jim had managed to finish three-quarters of a muffin and cup of coffee before getting to Khan’s apartment, but he didn’t need to tell Khan that, now did he?  
  
Jim managed to find a pan, a spatula, a couple of eggs, some flour, salt- yes, yes, this would do nicely. No syrup, which quite frankly was a goddamn travesty, but also not surprising given who was living in the damn apartment. Had Khan even gone shopping for himself yet? Probably not. Jim had noticed that the Augment was looking quite a bit leaner than he had when they’d first met, leading to the likely conclusion that Khan maybe wasn’t eating as much as he should be, which led to a lot of other conclusions that Jim didn’t really see a point in bringing up, since Khan would only deny the possibility of them ever occurring.  
  
The man couldn’t even admit that he’d made a mistake with a toaster, so Jim doubted he was going to admit to being stressed out.  
  
“Want to give me a hand?” Jim asked, and glanced over his shoulder.  
  
Khan was glaring at him suspiciously, arms crossed. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“I told you: You haven’t eaten, and neither have I. Two birds, one stone- they had that back in your day, right? I’m sure you had to scratch it onto a rock wall at some point, like all other forms of communication at the time.”  
  
“You could solve your own problem by going home- or anywhere else- and eating. You are deliberately going out of your way to stay here and interact with me.”  
  
Jim couldn’t help it: He rolled his eyes and dropped the spatula into the pan. “You sound like you expect me to pull out a phaser and duct-tape you into a chair or something.”  
  
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”  
  
Before he could stop himself, Jim snorted. “You’ve been duct-taped to a chair before?”  
  
“You _know_ what I mean,” Khan snapped.  
  
Jim sobered. As entertaining as the picture of Khan being completely and ridiculously duct-taped to a kitchen chair was, it was maybe better that he not laugh in the future. Khan had probably never been duct-taped taped to anything before, but Jim knew he’d been restrained in other ways that were decidedly less funny to think about.  
  
“Look. I came over to discuss your position on the Enterprise. Your toaster is busted, you haven’t eaten, and you need to eat.” Jim pointedly looked Khan up and down, and hoped the Augment got the message. “As it happens, I also need to eat. We cook, we eat, we talk, multiple things accomplished all at once. Now do you want to help me, or do you want to sulk over the damn toaster?”  
  
Khan still looked suspicious, and Jim didn’t know whether it was a general suspicion about his motives or if, hell, maybe he thought Jim was going to take this opportunity to poison him or something? Damn, he just didn’t know. The guy was an enigma. Jim just hoped that it was possible for him to let go of the paranoia at some point and accept that not everyone was a Section 31 agent looking to drag him away.  
  
But after a moment he stepped forward, settling uncomfortably next to Jim. He didn’t speak for a moment, just watched. Jim knew that giving Khan instructions might be a bit risky at this point, but… Well, he was going to have to do it at some point, wasn’t he? Jim handed Khan a spoon. “Alright, uh, if you could mix the flour and the milk, I’ll work on the…” He trailed off, looking for the eggs.  
  
Khan hesitated, but then began to slowly stir the ingredients together. Geez: Jim was making pancakes with a super-human who was more or less death on two legs. Put that on the long list of weird shit he never thought he’d be doing in life.  
  
They were quiet for a while, the only words spoken being Jim’s instructions- which, given that these were simple pancakes and not a seven-course meal, were limited. It wasn’t until Jim began to spoon the batter into the pan that Khan spoke. “What is this, exactly?”  
  
Jim looked at him. “Have you had pancakes before?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But you do know what they are, right?”  
  
Khan rolled his eyes, which was a good sign- Jim’s limited interactions with Khan had revealed that the more he did things like rolling his eyes, or shrugging his shoulders- namely, the more _human_ he behaved- the more relaxed he was. Now it was just a matter of keeping him in that state. “Of course I do. My interactions with the general public outside of the training facility and other Augments were limited, but they did happen on occasion.”  
  
“I don’t know, man! When I was at the Academy we had a really strict diet to keep us in shape, and I kind of assumed you had the same.”  
  
“We did.”  
  
“Was it as disgusting as the stuff we had to eat? I mean, okay, it wasn’t _disgusting_ , but it definitely wasn’t something I’d eat if I had a choice.”  
  
Khan shrugged. “I have very little basis for comparison.” He paused. “However, my sense of taste is somewhat heightened, and so I suspect it wasn’t ‘disgusting’ by most standards. Probably more bland than anything else.”  
  
“Well, unfortunately, this will be pretty bland- by my standards, anyway- since we don’t have maple syrup, but by your standards it may be overwhelmingly flavorful.”  
  
Khan opened his mouth, and for a moment it looked as though he might have been about to contradict Jim, offer up a time when he’d had something better… But then, just like when Jim had returned him to his apartment after his little escape last week, Khan’s expression became determinedly neutral, and his mouth snapped shut.  
  
Damn it. It happened again.  
  
One minute Khan was all normal and willing to have a nice conversation, and now he was back to Mr. I Am Better.  
  
What the hell happened? Was it something Jim said? Tried as he might, he couldn’t honestly find a way to interpret “pancakes taste better with syrup” as an offensive statement. At least not to Khan, anyways- there were always people willing to take offense at something idiotic, but Khan didn’t seem the type. Maybe he’d just managed to catch himself being a bit too pleasant and decided to get a hold of himself.  
  
Jim thought about calling him out on it, but then decided against it. There was hot, semi-solid matter in the pan below, and he had a disturbing vision of it being thrown across the room. Or into someone’s face. Namely, his own.  
  
He changed tactics- different topic, similar potential for strengthening Khan’s interpersonal skills (Oh God, when did Jim become _Spock?)_. “Did you give any thought about where you might like to be placed on the Enterprise?” He asked, glancing down at the bubbling batter and back up to Khan’s impassive face.  
  
“I have not. I believe I told you that any place would be sufficient.”  
  
“Except Medical.”  
  
There- right there, something in Khan’s expression changed. It came and went so quickly that Jim wasn’t entirely sure it’d been there in the first place, but it looked like a muscle-twitch. Jim only had a vague idea as to the specifics of what had gone on in Khan’s time with Section 31, but Khan himself had described it as ‘torture’ and the limited documentation they’d been given from Starfleet seemed to back that up (Bones had been rightly skeptical about whether or not said documents were telling the whole truth; “like hell they’d just hand us all of the top-secret shit on this guy”).  
  
Jim filed ‘Medical’ away in his mind under ‘Topics I Should Stay Away From When Speaking to Khan’, as well as ‘Things That Will Undoubtedly Become a Massive Fucking Problem at a Later Date’.  
  
“There are two places in particular that I had in mind,” Jim said, prodding one near-pancake with the spatula, “Positions where you’d be able to stretch your legs, metaphorically speaking; challenging, but not necessarily places that Starfleet will automatically veto the decision. There are more available, but these are the two I think you’d enjoy best.”  
  
Khan still looked decidedly neutral. “Go on.”  
  
“First is in Science. You’d be researching various substances collected from the planets we visit. Part of that will involve testing the samples to see how they react with various other matter, particularly human cells. That way, we know if they’re dangerous, or if they can be beneficial in medicine or some other vital capacity. We found this gray goop on one planet- first contact we’d had with it, ever- and it turns out that mixed with the right ingredients, it cures all forms of hepatitis in humans.”  
  
“Great need for hepatitis cures in Starfleet, is there?”  
  
Jim grinned, less so at the joke and more so at the fact that Khan had actually managed to crack a decent joke. “Oh, you have no idea.” He cut himself short of promising to get Bones to tell Khan about all of the insane alien sicknesses a person could contract nowadays. This was a nice conversation, and dragging Medical back into it might ruin it. That was Bones’s conversation for another day.  
  
“What rank?”  
  
Jim blinked. “Sorry?”  
  
“Has Starfleet been beneficent enough to bestow a particular rank on me, or am I meant to be operating under a more unconventional title?”  
  
Oh _shit_. This was a conversation Jim had wanted to save for another time, but it seemed as though it had finally occurred to Khan that he wasn’t going to be Captain of the Enterprise, which meant that he was, in effect, getting demoted from where he’d been before.  
  
“Well, uh… I think they still have to determine what your skill level is before they can officially rank you.”  
  
“I’m a Captain,” Khan said flatly, pushing the pan onto an unlit burner. Jim hadn’t even noticed that they were done.  
  
“True,” Jim agreed cautiously, careful to keep his tone light, “But the requirements by which you were made a Captain were for a different agency and time than present-day Starfleet. If they’d taken George Washington, a General, out of 1776 and brought him to 2001, would he still have qualified for the rank of General without any additional education or training?”  
  
“I suppose you have a point.” Thankfully, Khan didn’t seem irate by that realization. “What was the other position?”  
  
Relieved, Jim tried to organize his thoughts as he hunted around for plates and forks. “What was the… Oh, right, uh… It’s actually in Operations. Chief of Security.” He found the plates, and then turned around to hunt for the forks- only to be faced with a decidedly surprised-looking Khan.  
  
“Chief of Security?” Khan repeated. He looked suspicious again, but Jim felt it was less of a ‘are you about to put a knife in my back’ kind of suspicion and more of a ‘is April Fool’s day celebrated in September in this weird-ass future’ kind of suspicion. “Am I incorrect in suggesting that Chief of Security is a reasonably high-level position on the Enterprise?”  
  
Jim nodded slowly, fishing a couple of forks out of the drawer. “Yeah, yeah, you would be right about that.”  
  
Khan let out a short, disbelieving huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I thought you were aiming for positions that would not be immediately vetoed by Starfleet Command.”  
  
Jim nodded again, more easily this time. “I did, yeah. Chief of Security means you’d basically be the head cop on the Enterprise. Criminal investigations if anyone breaks any laws or Starfleet Protocol, guarding facilities, guarding _people_ , being the first response team if we’re ever invaded, and basically protecting the ship from any threat that might arise.” He slid the pancakes onto the plates. “But see, here’s the thing: As Chief of Security, that means you’re not only taking orders from me, you’re taking them from Starfleet Security as well. So as far as Command is concerned, I’m putting you in a position where you’ve got two people managing you and watching every move you make.”  
  
“And?” Khan said flatly, accepting the plate Jim offered him without even looking down at it.  
  
“Unappealing, I know. But!” Jim grinned, “We’re going on a five-year mission. So although you’ll be responsible for giving a full report to Security when you get _back_ \- and possibly an update if we end up on any space stations outfitted for communication back to Starfleet HQ- for five years, you really only have to worry about me getting on your case. The bonus with you being in this position…” Jim sucked in a breath, trying to find the right wording as he set his own plate on the table. “…Well, our last guy, Horace Bellwether- he got quietly relieved of duty when it came out that he wasn’t taking the appropriate actions against people who were breaking protocol. He was too soft, and he was too friendly. He didn’t maintain the appropriate professional boundaries that he was supposed to while on duty.”  
  
“And you know very well that I won’t have that problem.” Khan concluded as they sat down at the table.  
  
Jim nodded. “Exactly. I can respect bending the rules in extreme circumstances, but he was letting some pretty serious things slide. One of the Ensigns, she brought some kind of flower on board and was keeping it in her room- wrong, by the way, anything picked up on another planet has to be run through Security first to make sure it’s safe- and he didn’t do anything about it, and it turns out it was leeching a lot of her spinal fluid in her sleep.”  
  
Khan’s lip curled up slightly in disgust, but only for a moment- then it was back to that sort of strange fascination he’d been regarding Jim with for the last few minutes. “Your pitch is… Intriguing. And surprisingly well-versed to get the answer you want from Command.” He frowned down at the pancakes for a moment. “I’m impressed.”  
  
“With me, or the pancakes?”  
  
“You.” He looked vaguely pained to admit it. “I’m sensing that you would prefer me in the Security position.”  
  
“I would, actually.” Jim didn’t see any harm in admitting it.”  
  
“I thought as much. You’ve clearly put thought into how to best convince Command that it’s a good idea.” The frown deepened. “However, I’m curious as to why _you_ think it would be a good idea, beyond my obvious impartiality towards your crew. Most would say that putting me in any sort of position of power might be a touch too risky, given my history.”  
  
Jim shrugged, digging his fork into his pancakes and watching them tear under the force of the metal. “Honestly? As much as it kills me to stroke your already insanely-large ego, you’re smart, and you’re strong, and you’ve got a good mind for strategy- especially the kind of strategy that involves conflict, which Security will probably encounter a good bit of in the next five years. Once they’ve evaluated you, it would not surprise me if you were Lieutenant-grade or higher. I don’t see any point in shoving you in with people who are still learning the ropes when you’ve already proven that you’re capable in a lot of the areas a Chief of Security would need to be capable in.”  
  
“And you’ve no concern about me using my authority in some nefarious way, to somehow undermine Starfleet?” Khan’s tone was dripping sarcasm, and Jim might have laughed if he didn’t know in the less-optimistic part of his brain that there was still a possibility that his faith in the existence of Khan’s better nature might backfire on him at some point. Khan’s loyalties and priorities lay with recovering his crew, and Jim knew there was still some possibility that he may seize some unsavory opportunity to get them back.  
  
Still, Jim hadn’t gotten to be where he was because he was a pessimist.  
  
“No,” He said, “I don’t. I think you’re going to enjoy doing what you’re doing, and realistically, I think you’re too smart to do anything that might put yourself in a bad situation with Starfleet. And even if I didn’t think you were capable of behaving yourself, pretty much everyone in the crew knows who you are. If they see you reading any books entitled ‘How to Strangle a Starfleet Captain to Death With Your Bare Hands’, they’ll probably come and tell me.”  
  
“Strangling you with my hands would be foolish. Garroting with a wire of some sort would be much faster, and far more likely to be lethal.” There was just a hint of a smile on his face as he said that, enough to confirm that he was, in fact, joking. At least about doing it to Jim.  
  
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very _dark_ sense of humor?” Jim didn’t find the idea of Khan choking him with a piece of wire amusing, but he found his thoughts drifting to other peoples’- say, Bones’s, or Spock’s- reactions to Khan’s kind of humor and found himself smiling a little anyway.  
  
“It’s been brought up before.”  
  
“Yeah, well, stuff the dark stuff and eat your pancakes. They’re getting cold.”  
  
Jim quietly watched Khan as he ate; he was bemoaning the lack of syrup to properly enjoy his own pancakes, but Khan seemed to like them just fine. Of course, whether that because he liked them or simply didn’t see any reason to express his _dis_ like for them, that was up for debate.  
  
When Khan was nearly finished, Jim asked, “So, can I assume that the Security position appeals to you?”  
  
Khan hesitated. “I suppose it does. I won’t hold my breath, though, as I’m still reasonably certain that Starfleet Command will take issue with the appointment.”  
  
Jim gave him a knowing smile. “I’ll work on them.”  
  
“Th-” Khan cut himself off so quickly that at first Jim didn’t have any idea what he’d been about to say. But after a moment of what looked like some serious internal conflict, Khan sighed softly and said, “… _Thank_ you, Kirk.”  
  
It was only through great effort that Jim managed to keep the full extent of his grin contained.  
  
“You’re welcome, Khan. This is what I do for my crew.” Jim glanced at the clock. “Hey, your refrigerator was looking pretty light. You gone shopping yet?”  
  
“I have not.”  
  
Jim’s suspicions about Khan’s under-eating just kept getting more traction, didn’t they? “Well, I’m not due for anything for the next few hours. Want a tour of a 23 rd Century supermarket?”  
  
Clearly Khan hadn’t been expecting that sort of offer, because he looked nearly surprised as he had when Jim had offered him the Security position. It was interesting to watch the internal debate raging on his face, ‘no no screw that I must stay my stuffy, repressed self’ battling it out with ‘well what the fuck else do I have to do today’. “Oh… Fine, then,” he said finally, standing up. “I suppose I’ll need a new toaster anyways, won’t I?”  
  
“Yeah, you will,” Jim agreed, grabbing the plates and scraping the remains into the trash before setting them into the dishwasher. “At least this way you’ll be able to get one you’re comfortable working with.”  
  
Khan sniffed, pulling his overcoat off the hook near the door. “I’d have worked it out just fine with time and the proper tools,” He grunted.  
  
Jim clapped him on the shoulder and opened the door, biting back a snicker.  
  
“I don't doubt it, man. Not at all.” 

-End


End file.
